


Tumblr Assortment

by delicate_mageflower



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anders Positive, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Justice Positive, Mage Rights, Multi, Other, fuck the chantry, tranquility mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 09:45:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17826398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicate_mageflower/pseuds/delicate_mageflower
Summary: This is just a collection of writings I had previously posted only on Tumblr that I wanted to make sure will be preserved whenever the tragic but likely inevitable fate of that wonderful hellsite comes to pass.





	1. Beginnings

It was only the first night and she’d already told him that she never wanted him to leave, and a part of her was still astounded by how much she’d meant it. Neither of them could truly seem to believe the way they held each other, the warmth of one’s skin against the other’s, the soft movements of fingertips and lips tracing against flesh on a whim, just because they could. Because this was real now. This was safe. This was theirs.

Hawke couldn’t bring herself to keep her hands off of him for fear that he might yet slip away, just as Anders couldn’t seem to tear himself from her. Three years of wanting, of waiting. Three years of loving quietly, carefully, as distantly as could be. Three years of patiently waiting for the other to see reason, to be the first to run, to do better. Three years torn down by one kiss, by one frustrating evening, and then by…this. Even after three years of dreaming of it, aching for it, nothing could have prepared them for how having it would really feel.

Hawke rolled herself over onto Anders, kissing his clavicle, sighing happily as he ran his fingers through her hair, and just listened. The sound of his heartbeat, the steady breaths matching the rise and fall of his chest beneath her, under her hands as she ran them over his ribs. “Anders?”

“Yes, love?”

It felt ridiculous, the way she smiled. _Love,_ not even just the word but the inflection, the sincerity. The reality. _Love._

“Would you like a sandwich?”

Anders moved to sit himself up as Hawke rose from over him, and he couldn’t help the shake of his head any more than he could the playful smirk that accompanied it. “How romantic.”

“Well?

Anders shrugged with a grin, grabbing his trousers as she reached for her robe, both of them moving to make their way to the kitchen.

"What?” Hawke teased as went through the cupboards. “Ah well, I guess it’s more traditional to buy you dinner _first,_ isn’t it?”

Anders laughed honestly as she brought what she’d gathered out to the table. He thought of how easy this seemed, how incredible that was. How afraid he’d been, how they both had, but how unnecessary it then seemed. Justice felt it, too, the peace of the moment. The way Hawke did not hesitate to tell them to stay, the way she was already trying to make sure she saw Anders fed. He could see the concern, the care, and he could only hum contentedly in the back of Anders’s mind.

“So, then, what? Is this what we’re calling a date?” He reached for her hand as she sat down, still too anxious to let go. She took it with a tight grip, holding on with everything she had.

“Yes,” she chuckled back at him a grin. “I suppose that’s what this is. I promise the next one will be better thought out, though. Sound good?”

Anders only shook his head. “No, love. This is perfect.”


	2. Promised Lies

“Maker, I hate this, Varric. How in the Void do you do it?” Hawke is pacing the halls of Skyhold, wringing her hands, afraid she may begin literally tearing her hair out.

Varric offers up a sympathetic look, for once in his life at a loss for words. “Blondie would understa—”

“I know he fucking understands!” Hawke stops moving at once. “I’m sorry, Varric, it’s not your fault…”

Varric motions for Hawke to sit with him. They are alone, they’d managed to ensure that much. Hawke knows this is a safe space, at least for the time being, but she still can’t help looking over her shoulder.

“I’m playing this exactly the way he wants me to, I’m trying my damnedest to keep to that. Maker knows how hard I’m trying.” Hawke sighs heavily, head in her hands, beyond emotionally drained. “I know I can’t risk trusting these people, certainly at least not yet. But the way they look at me, the way they see him, and I’m just supposed to play along? To pretend I can vilify him at all the way they can? How the fuck do you do it?”

“I’m a storyteller, Hawke.” Varric places a hand on their shoulder, shaking his head just slightly. “I basically lie for a living. It’s just what I do. I don’t like it any more than you do, not this time, but you’re right, it’s all we really can do.”

“‘He’s not a monster or a hero. Maybe he’s both.’ Those are actual words that came out of my mouth today.” Hawke practically hisses out the words now, tinged with anger, with guilt. In this moment she hates the world for putting them in this position. In this moment she hates herself for giving in, even if she knows that at the end of the day it’s only to keep Anders safe. “The Inquisitor asked me about him and I didn’t know what to say and I knew I had to bullshit something, but…I actually said he’s not a hero, I actually said that…oh Maker, I directly stated that I could ever see him as a monster. How could I do that?”

“Because if you tell them the truth, it’s on both your heads. You don’t want them getting to Blondie any more than Blondie wants them getting to you.” Hawke opens her mouth as if to speak, but Varric continues anyway. “If you told it like it is and anything were to happen to you over it, he would feel responsible. He would never forgive himself for it, and you know I’m right. He’s been through enough already, Hawke. You both have. So you put on the face, you lie through your teeth, and when all is said and done you get to go home to be with him, and you can put this farce behind you.”

“Is that how you wrote _Tale of the Champion,_ then?”

“Yes.” Varric hangs his head, and Hawke can see that it weighs on him, too. “I wrote the story that needed to be written. There was already too much that I couldn’t deny, but Maker knows that at least I could still fuck with it. Red’s a bitch to everyone so she might be able to continue her career. Blondie’s an ass to Daisy so at least the Chantry can’t accuse of him of deliberately conspiring with a blood mage. Gives her some leeway, too. It’s why Rivaini cares so little about any of it, it’s why you spend so much of the story wondering when Blondie and Broody are just gonna kill each other already. Almost all of the dialogue was pretty much just intended to give you some room to make excuses, to set yourself some distance if you needed, so you could protect yourselves. I know how much you hated the way I wrote you and Blondie at the explosion, but I did it for a reason. That’s why I wrote it at all, Hawke. Because there was no way people weren’t going to come up with their own stories about the whole mess and I figured if they could read one from someone who was there…that maybe I could spin it just right and that could be enough. I did it for you, Hawke. I did it for all us, but for you two most of all. Just like I’m doing here. Just like you have to do.”

Hawke sighs with a smile. The smile is forced and Varric could see through it from a mile away, but she knows he makes a good point. She knows she can’t argue. She knows this isn’t about her. “You’re long overdue for a visit, you know. After this is all over? Dinner, drinks, Wicked Grace? Anders has been making progress with that lute…”

Varric laughs, just for a moment, but he means it. “Sure, I’ll visit, but only if you promise to spare me the performance. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Hawke moves to stand, rapidly losing the battle with her exhaustion, simply having had too much and too long of a day.

“Hawke…wait…”

Varric rises, himself, turns to Hawke to make eye contact.

“Listen, in all seriousness, I absolutely will come spend some time with you guys if we make it out of here, I promise, but…I think you should talk to the Kid. When this is all said and done, I think you need to take him to Blondie. Promise me you will.”

“Sure, I mean I don’t know, but…”

“Trust me on this one, Hawke. I guarantee you’ll thank me later.”

Hawke nods, unsure of how else to respond. “'Night, Varric.”

“'Night, Hawke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I finally, as of February 2019 (lol), have a canon Inquisitor who definitely calls Hawke out on her bullshit during the battlements scene, this is likely not actually a part of my personal canon/continuity. But I liked it, so I'm still putting it here.


	3. Trauma and Renewal

Anders wakes from a nightmare, alone in Hawke’s bed. _Their_ bed, he’s corrected, Justice reminds him, but it does not ease the pain in his chest upon seeing the empty space on the other side of them. He can feel the rise of panic coming up to his throat, holding back his breath, and for as much as Justice tries, in this moment he cannot do anything but worry about all of the things Hawke’s absence could mean.

There’s noise coming from downstairs, and Justice wills Anders to make his way down to meet it, to investigate, possibly find an explanation for the current circumstance.

He follows the sound into the kitchen, where Hawke is alone at the table, cup of tea in hand. Justice notes that Hawke’s tea smells remarkably of liquor, and together they sit down to join them.

“Oh, love, I thought you were asleep…are you okay?” Hawke’s eyes are tired as Anders’s own, looking up to meet them as Justice extends a glowing hand towards their lover, their partner.

“Yes, don’t worry,” Anders lies, feeling the rest of their skin crackle, and he knows Hawke understands Justice’s not-so-subtle admission. “Okay, fine, I’m not, but…are you? What can I do, love?”

Hawke extends her mug, as much an offer as a deflection. “Would you like some?”

“No, thank you,” he answers with a forced smile. “Justice still isn’t a big fan of the less virtuous kinds of spirits.”

Hawke laughs. Only momentarily, quietly, but it’s a laugh nonetheless, and Justice lets Anders know that it is genuine.

“What’s keeping you up, love?” Anders’s question is barely above a whisper, and Hawke’s hand rises to overlay Justice’s as they lean forward for him to cup Hawke’s face, running his fingers along her jawline, his thumb caressing her cheekbone, and she too leans up, leans into the touch.

“Just feeling strangely homesick, I suppose.” Hawke’s answer is flat yet tinged with melancholy, and she pulls Justice’s hand to her lips, kissing each finger one by one before moving her hands to rest together on the table, intertwined, holding tight. “You?”

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Anders replies with a shake of his head.

“Bad dream?”

“Solitary.”

Hawke’s head hangs for a second, and Justice squeezes her hand harder for assurance.

“Talk to me, love,” Anders adds, his eyes warm as he looks at Hawke, his tone gentle.

“Kirkwall is a strange place,” Hawke says with a slight shrug. “I’m just so tired of it taking so much.”

Anders looks on with a sympathetic smile, and Hawke takes the cue to continue. “I…I just really miss my father right now. I’m honestly sort of glad he isn’t around to see…this, but sometimes I just can’t help but wish he were still here.”

“You don’t talk about him much,” Anders replies, almost involuntarily, and his immediate second guessing of the comment must show.

“It’s okay, I just…” Hawke begins, pausing to take a much needed breath. “I guess that with everything that’s happened since coming here, sometimes it seems like I almost forget I ever even had a life in Ferelden.”

“The injustice of this city is abhorrent, and how much it has hurt you is unforgivable,” Justice speaks up, ethereal blue eyes feeling like they stare right into Hawke’s very being.

“You certainly deserve far better than anything you’ve had here,” Anders adds, an unspoken implication unintended yet apparent.

“Well, I have found much more than I deserve in this place in at least one respect,” Hawke responds, eyes full of love, reassuring smile that Justice can also detect no lies behind. “Your turn, love.”

“You can take the mage out of the Circle, but you can’t take the Circle out of the mage, it seems.” Anders tries to keep his tone light, for just this moment not to let it show how much it still weighs on him, how much it always will, but he knows he can’t hide it from Hawke anymore than he can Justice.

“I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for you,” Hawke says solemnly.

“And thank the Maker for that, love,” Anders smiles, and the smile is of course a lie, but Justice can feel the intention behind it and does not intervene.

“No one deserves to be hurt the way you have, Anders. Least of all you.” Hawke’s eyes are pained, and no longer for herself. He can’t help but remember the first time he’d spent the night here, the way Hawke’s eyes had widened when she saw all of the scars he carried physically in addition to the ones she’d known he dealt with mentally, and how not all of them had come directly from Templars’ hands, and Anders had thought Hawke might even put that night on hold to storm the Gallows instead. They didn’t, of course, but Anders was sure that seeing the fire in Hawke’s eyes then was the exact moment Justice fell in love with her, too.

“Thank you,” Anders whispers, staring Hawke in the eyes, desperately searching for more comforting words, not ever wanting to see Hawke hurt anymore than Hawke ever wants to see it from Anders. “That’s why we fight.”

The sentiment is more Justice’s thought than Anders’s, but it seems to be what Hawke needs to hear, as her head perks up and her gaze warms, that look in her eyes that Anders still has trouble believing could ever be directed at him, continuously in awe that Hawke still feels the same whenever he looks like that at her.

“Yes,” Hawke nods. “That is why we fight. And between the two of you, I know we can win.”

All three of them seem to agree at once that it’s time to return to bed, rising to stand in unison, the two bodies grabbing hold of each other the very moment they reach a sufficiently upright position.

“I love you,” three voices say, repeating over and again, stumbling over each other’s words, having never meant anything more in their entire lives. “I love you so much…”

When they return to bed, the arms of both bodies wrap around each other’s as though holding on for dear life, two bodies and three minds entangling in reassurance, in support, in love. And when Anders and Hawke awaken the next morning, they find that they’re still completely wrapped up in each other, that they don’t seem to have moved at all, and in this one small moment all three of them feel at peace.


	4. Varric Must Be Stopped (But He Means Well and We Love Him)

The Chantry went up and Hawke was obviously conflicted. Anders was her lover, her partner in all things, the person she trusted above all else, and he’d done…this. How was she to proceed? Of course there was no strict black-and-white, right vs. wrong moral code to follow here. If anything, if there was it would mean dismissing Anders at best. She had to think about this, for as little time as there even was to do so. Her friends were of no help. Varric and Isabela were too selfish and careless, neither wanting to really commit to a stance, too worried about themselves. Then Fenris and Aveline were much too predictable, as neither of them had ever gotten on with Anders very well at all. Merrill jumped to his defense even though they hadn’t really either, but she was so sweet and naïve it still came as no surprise. Hawke eventually made her decision, even though it pained her to do so. Anders would live. Anders would fight with her. At the end, she would remain by his side. This wouldn’t be easy, there’s no way it could be, but that was the decision Hawke had come to and it was the one she was going to have to live with, whether it was the best choice in the end or not.

…That was around the point in the book the actual Hawke took her copy of _Tale of the Champion_ and threw it across the room, and it was a miracle she’d held on that long.

“That bad, love?” Anders laughed as she scowled at the wall it hit.

“Remind me to murder Varric next time we see him, please,” Hawke smiled back at him. “In the nicest, friendliest way possible, of course.”

“I’m not too fond of my representation either,” Anders sighed, “but we know why he did it.”

Hawke moved over to the large chair where Anders sat and sprawled herself over his lap, and dramatically exhaled as she stretched out over him. “Justice, do I have your permission, at least?”

“His deceit was only written with the intention to protect all of us,” Justice answered, the smallest hint of blue crackling through his and Anders’s skin. “His falsehoods may be a bit extravagant at times, but it would certainly be unjust to execute him for a crime so minor as that.”

“Fine, fine,” Hawke huffed back playfully. “We know what really happened. And you do know I never would have turned on you for a moment, right? You know I never, ever had to even think about it, don’t you?”

“Of course, love,” Anders and Justice answered as one, and Hawke contentedly curled into them.

“That’s all that matters, then, really,” Hawke followed softly. “Varric can live to see another day, in that case.”

“Good call,” Anders chuckled and kissed their head.

“Shall we go to bed, love?” Hawke nearly purred against his chest.

“Yes,” he answered happily. “Let’s.”


	5. There Will Never Be Peace, Not Like This

Hawke looks back at Meredith, and for the first time she finds herself legitimately intimidated by her. This is the woman who called her “Champion” to begin with, but she stills knows it could be taken from her far more easily than it had been given.

Hawke’s eyes shift to Elsa and her heart drops. _That could be me,_ she thinks to herself and her eyes grow wide. Meredith’s cruelty does not seem to know limit, however, and she wonders if she would even be the one to face the brand were she to refuse. She involuntarily clenches her fists at the mental of image of Anders wearing it, and then Merrill. She remembers how she could practically feel Anders’s pain surge through him when they found Karl, how much it had hurt her to see when she hadn’t even known him. That brand was fear made real, and it creeps over her now, her own forehead stinging as she looks upon Elsa’s.

 _Kindness,_ she thinks bitterly. _Fuck you and your “kindness.”_

She acquiesces because she’s so afraid she has to, now more than ever. She knows Anders and Justice have plans. She hasn’t quite figured out what they are, but she knows Meredith’s time is coming, Elthina’s time is coming, this whole fucking city’s time is coming. She will do what she can to cover them until their plans come to fruition, she will do what she can to keep them safe. The thought sits heavily, she still can’t help but hate herself for what she’s just agreed to do, but her resolve hardens just a little when she again looks to Elsa.

 _One day no one will have to go through what you have,_ she silently promises. _Someday death will not truly be kindness in comparison. I swear I’m going to see this happen. I swear I’m going to help in any way I can. I’m sorry I was too late for you._

She takes the names and tries to hide how much it breaks her heart to do so. First thing’s first, before they do anything else she’s heading to the Hanged Man. She and Varric are going to spend the evening over however many pints it takes to forget this is happening for as long as she can. After that she can search herself for the strength to move forward, after that she can curl up with Anders and remind herself why she stays here, why she does anything she does. After that she can get this whole mess over with and move back onto thinking about the future, helping Anders and Justice however she can, watching and waiting for this whole damn city to burn.

Because it’s coming. She doesn’t know when and she doesn’t know how, but it’s coming. So she’ll keep them all afloat long enough to let it, long enough to throw her own torch in whenever the day finally does come.


End file.
